She left the room with far more poise than the footman had, although the sound echoing from just behind the door indicated she had partaken in the oysters as well.
“Did ye eat the oysters?”
“No,” Violet whispered. “I won’t touch them. You?”
He shook his head. “I ate with James in York. Roast lamb.” He released a long sigh. “No one saw us. We’re not ruined.”
“No.” Her shoulders slumped. “We’ll have to try again.”
Somewhere in his chest, a brass band took up playing a victory tune. “If we must.”
Chapter 19
“You will not die.”
Timothy threw his forearm over his face and groaned. “I disagree. Death by shellfish.”
“If we’re being technical,” Violet said as she laid another strip of damp toweling over his forehead, “an oyster is a mollusk.”
He opened one eye and glared at her with an intensity that belied his state of exhaustion. “I doubt my digestive system cares all that much for classifications of the animal kingdom.” He belched and his face blanched.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything that sounds good to eat?”
“Not a thing,” he rasped, then narrowed his gaze at her. “Although you could bolster my spirits by telling me what is happening with that Scot of yours.” He bobbed one brow.
Violet cleared her throat as her cheeks prickled. “Oh, I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this.”
“Mmm hmm.”
Her mouth twisted.
“Could it be that you’ve been avoiding me?” he drawled.
“I’ve been… busy,” she said. Timothy glared, and she huffed. “Fine. I didn’t want to tell you because you wouldn’t approve.”
His expression brightened and a wry smile spread across his parched lips. “Unless you’ve sat in your bedroom all night drafting pamphlets extolling the virtues of celibacy, I most certainly will approve.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as she spat out her words. “I’ve convinced Callum Hawthorne to ruin me.”
Silence rang for a long moment until she opened one eye with deliberate sluggishness.
Timothy was grinning like a cat who’d caught a particularly juicy mouse. “Iknewit!” He slapped his hands on the mattress, seemingly fully recovered. “Iknewthere was something between you!”
“How did you know?”
“You’ve had a certain glow about you,” he said, motioning to her cheeks. “And this morning I happened to peer out the window to see you coming in from a ride, all disheveled and wobbly.” He pointed a finger in her face. “You look like a woman well-pleasured.”
“No,” she barked as she batted his hand away. “It’s not what you think—we’re not doing anything, just pretending.”
Precious few moments existed in their shared history when Violet left Timothy completely speechless. This, apparently, was one of them.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” she said, busying her hands in the waistband of her dress.
He puffed out a breath. “What is there to say? You’ve asked one of the best-looking men at this party—and trust me, I’m an expert on that topic—toruinyou, but you aren’t actually…” He made a crude gesture and she thumped him with a pillow, her sympathy evaporated.
“We made an arrangement for appearances only. Sir Phineas will withdraw his suit when he learns what I’ve done. Callum doesn’t want to be intimate with me.”
The heat in her cheeks spread down her chest as she remembered their kiss last night, the way he pressed his body to hers that morning, the touch of his lips on her neck. His words had left her aching and needy. After they’d left the deserted breakfast room, she’d rushed to her bed to press her hand between her legs. The release had only satisfied her for a moment before a deeper, duller ache returned, one that spread over her like a heavy blanket, leaving her desperate to throw it off and breathe normally again.
